


Sherlock the Star

by wendymarlowe



Series: John and Sherlock's Kinky First Times [38]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Experienced!Sherlock, First Time, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-02-15 01:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13020282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymarlowe/pseuds/wendymarlowe
Summary: John can't get over the fact that Sherlock used to act in adult films. Not that it's any of his business. Really. It didn't matter how many people had seen Sherlock naked; it's all fine. John is perfectly happy remaining platonic friends with his gorgeous, sexy flatmate.Yeah, that was a lie. Sherlock sets him straight (or not-so-straight, so to speak).(Part of my "John and Sherlock's Kinky First Times" series of shorts, all revolving around the same basic theme of "John and Sherlock get sexy for the first time and also discover some kinky stuff about each other.")





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Sherlock the Star (part 38 of John and Sherlock's Kinky First Times) 明星夏洛克](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14705828) by [Ritaaaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ritaaaa/pseuds/Ritaaaa)



“It’s not the same at all.”

“Hmmm?” John looked up from his laptop to see Sherlock’s vaguely annoyed face. _Ah, right. Hates to repeat himself._ “I mean,” John said, “what’s not the same?”

“Anal sex and vaginal sex. They don’t feel at all the same. It’s what you were wondering.”

John felt his cheeks flame. “Sherlock, why would you… ah…”

Sherlock managed to give the impression of rolling his eyes without actually moving. “You’re watching porn, John. Specifically the video you have bookmarked of the threesome in which the two men and the woman are attempting double penetration. You don’t want to bring your laptop upstairs with you for your before-bed wank because you’re worried I’d notice, so you’re watching it here with the sound off and pretending to be engrossed in something more socially acceptable.”

John glanced down at the paused screen - which was, in fact, displaying that particular video - and sighed. “I should be mad at you for looking through my bookmarks, but I guess I’m not surprised.”

“Yes, well, hiding your porn in a folder entitled “writing tips” was a dead giveaway. If you were truly brushing up on writing tips, your blog would be more tolerable.”

“Berk.”

“As to how I knew which video, the timing of your respiration variations corresponds to the pacing of that one in particular. You frowned slightly, meaning you were thinking, thus your train of thought was obvious. You’ve never engaged in anal penetration, giving or receiving, and you were curious whether it would feel different. And it does, quite a bit.”

“How would you know?”

Sherlock gave him a disbelieving stare, which John belatedly realized he probably deserved. “Just because I don’t bring home a string of ephemeral girlfriends doesn’t mean I’ve never been sexually active, John.”

John blinked. “Really?” _Crap - that might have sounded rude_. “I, ah, always assumed you…”

“Sociopath. Not robot. Although you wouldn’t be the first to assume I’d run any partner off within five minutes and therefore be incapable of ‘pulling’.”

 _Shit._ “I didn’t mean it like that,” John protested. “I’d just - back when we first met, you said girlfriends and boyfriends weren’t your ‘area’ and you were married to your work. I assumed that meant you came down somewhere on the asexual side of the spectrum. Not that I didn’t think you... Sherlock, I’ve _seen_ you lay on the charm, on the occasions you can be bothered. You practically have to fend your targets off with a stick afterward. I’m just surprised, is all.” It all made sense, in a strange way - Sherlock frequently took up new obsessions, spent weeks or months engrossed in them, and dropped them just as quickly when he got bored. Sex would be a pretty major omission from his mind palace if he’d reached his thirties without _some_ sort of expertise. “Experiment?” John asked. And then another, worse possibility occurred to him. “Or... it _was_ something you wanted to do, right?” He couldn’t help glancing briefly at the crook of Sherlock’s elbow. The pinprick scars were hidden by long-sleeved shirts most of the time, but they both knew the evidence was there. Drug addicts weren’t known for their healthy relationships-

Sherlock’s glare turned even more affronted, if such a thing were possible. “Despite my best efforts,” he snapped, “it’s not _actually_ possible to remain high twenty-four hours a day. I know; I tried. I discovered that sex was one of the few things that could help me ignore the cravings - a legal, relatively safe neurochemical high. The experience isn’t the same when one’s sensory receptors are compromised.”

“I’m sorry for being a prick about it.” John shut his laptop and willed Sherlock to see he was telling the truth. “And yeah, I guess I did assume that you had no experience in that arena. But, um…” _God, how had he gotten himself into this conversation?_ “Out of curiosity... men and women both? Do you consider yourself bisexual?”

Sherlock visibly relaxed at John’s apology. “More like a Kinsey four and a half.” He shrugged. “Which has been useful, I’ll admit. And surprisingly lucrative.”

 _Bloody hell_. The drugs, the casual sexual experience - Sherlock wouldn’t be the first addict reduced to selling himself on the street, recovering or no, but-

“Not that.” Sherlock did roll his eyes this time. “Prostitution is _far_ too high risk. Mycroft would have locked me in his basement before he let me resort to that. No, for several months after the rehab that actually took, I worked in the adult film industry. Good pay, flexible schedule, only short-term commitments. And regular testing for both narcotics and STDs, which satisfied my meddling brother. One of my fellow inmates at the rehab facility had enjoyed some success as a director and he offered me the chance. I took it.”

“Directing, or…”

“Acting, of course.” Sherlock grinned suddenly. “I do have _some_ qualifications.”

“Christ.” The problem was, John could envision it much too easily - Sherlock’s almost alien beauty but in a younger face, those curls tempered by a bit of softness. He’d be gorgeous when he came, if his “I’ve solved the case” expression looked anything like it. John felt a strange stab of jealousy for all the partners Sherlock must have fucked on camera, even though he _knew_ the scenes in porn were nowhere near as sexy in reality. Still. Did Sherlock top, or did he like being the one to get fucked? Were his videos strictly vanilla? And by “qualifications,” did he mean he had a particularly porn-worthy cock? John’s gaze had already drifted downward toward Sherlock’s groin before he caught himself and turned away. Sherlock noticed, though. Of course he did. And he laughed.

“For all your insistence that you’re not gay,” Sherlock pointed out, “you’re terribly interested in the size of my penis.” He stood up in one languid movement and reached for the button of his trousers. “You’re perfectly welcome to see, if you like.”

John abandoned his laptop and fled upstairs, face flaming.

***

“Either,” Sherlock declared in the middle of an otherwise silent breakfast, “although I particularly enjoy performing fellatio.”

John nearly dropped his fork. “I didn’t ask.”

“Oh, come on - your complete refusal to look me in the face this morning did all the asking for you. Well over half of male-male pornography is consumed by so-called ‘straight’ men, you know - you’re not alone in your curiosity.”

 _Bloody hell._ John shoved the rest of his toast into his mouth and went to grab his coat. “I’ve got to get to the clinic.”

***

There were two new bookmarks on John’s browser bar when he finally got a chance to sit down at his laptop that evening. Sherlock was out, so after twenty minutes of dithering, John opened them.

He couldn’t tell whether he was disappointed or relieved that neither video showed Sherlock.

He retreated to his room and wanked to them anyway.

***

“You’re still thinking about it.”

John shook his head and glared at Sherlock, albeit through the newspaper so his creepily observant flatmate couldn’t see. “I’m really not,” he countered.

“If you weren’t, you’d have said ‘About what?’ But we both know exactly what it is you’ve been thinking about.”

John sighed. “Not by choice, I assure you.” Lord knew he’d have gotten a hell of a lot more done at the clinic over the last two days. Sarah had even pulled him aside that afternoon to ask if he was getting enough sleep, because he kept zoning out at inconvenient times. Problem was, the berk had invaded his life so thoroughly that _everything_ kept reminding him Sherlock was a porn star. Porn actor, anyway. Hundreds or thousands of people had had the opportunity to see Sherlock naked, see what he looked like when having sex with other gorgeous people, and the unfairness of that was horribly distracting. John didn’t _want_ to go looking up Sherlock’s old films. It would be all kinds of Not Good. And yet.

“I looked quite a bit different back then,” Sherlock said. “Dyed my hair blond, for one, and I kept it very short. My facial features often make it difficult for strangers to guess my age; back then I minimized my height and my cheekbones and played up the young twink look. I’m sure you’ve already discovered that I did all my acting under a pseudonym.”

“I haven’t…” John dropped the paper and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Christ, what kind of ego must you have to assume I went and looked you up?”

Sherlock’s snort was downright eloquent.

And okay, damn it, John _had_ searched. A tiny bit. He hadn’t expected Sherlock to be easy to find, so the fact that his search turned up nothing wasn’t entirely a surprise. The real surprise had been how much he realized he’d been hoping.

“If you want to see me naked,” Sherlock said in a low voice, “all you need to do is ask. We both know you want to.”

John shook his head. “I respect your privacy, Sherlock,” he retorted. “Like I said when we first met - it’s all fine, really. None of my business.”

Sherlock laughed. “Liar.”

***

John held out for almost a week.

***

“I want to see you naked.”

Sherlock popped up off the sofa with a vigor that had been entirely lacking during the four hours he’d been lying there in his mind palace. John had spent the last hour of that pacing in his room, steeling himself to finally say something and dreading the way Sherlock would surely tease him for it, but Sherlock wasn’t looking smug in the least. He looked… _hungry_.

“Finally,” he growled, and towed John by the hand toward his bedroom. “I’ve been keeping my room neat and my bed made for _ages_ while you got over your heterosexual crisis.”

“I only meant-”

“I know what you meant,” Sherlock interrupted before John could finish his protest. “And I won’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to. But John?” He stopped, and in one smooth motion swung John back against the wall and leaned in to cage him with his own lanky body. Their faces were so close John could see the flecks of color in his irises. “ _You’ll want to.”_


	2. Chapter 2

There wasn’t much John could say in response to that, so he let Sherlock tug him the rest of the way past the loo and into his startlingly uncluttered bedroom. Sherlock _had_ cleaned, John realized. Usually his floor was a minefield of books and assorted “for an experiment” debris John wouldn’t allow elsewhere in the flat, but now the duvet was perfectly aligned and the nightstand was bare except for--

“Christ, you really were hopeful, weren’t you?”

Sherlock glanced over at the implausibly large teal dildo and the sleek bottle of lube, then turned back to John and raised an eyebrow. “Shocked?”

“More… intrigued.”

He grinned, showing a quick flash of white teeth. “I don’t leave them there all the time--can’t go around scandalizing Mrs. Hudson.”

John stopped dead. “Bloody hell. Sherlock, does she know? About your…” He gestured futilely.

“My acting career? I first met her on-set, actually.”

 _“Christ._ ” Never had John wished more that he could delete things as easily as Sherlock could. “Please, don’t elaborate. I don’t want to know.”

Sherlock chuckled. “She was managing craft services for several shoots in the same building, don’t worry. We never shared a scene.” He grabbed John by the waist and tugged him so they both fell sideways onto the bed. “I think she did some camerawork of her own once upon a time, but I’ve never asked.”

John shook his head, hoping he could banish _that_ image. Sherlock effectively changed the subject by stripping John’s jumper off him before he could object.

“I suspect you don’t really want to be thinking about Mrs. Hudson right now,” he declared. “Should I take my shirt off, or would you prefer to do it as foreplay? Would you rather be the penetrating partner or the one being penetrated? I’ve enjoyed both roles in the past, depending on the situation. The dildo is also an option if you’d like to explore it.”

“Um.” John’s brain was having a hard time getting past the words _penetrating partner_ as long as Sherlock kept fingering the top button on his sinfully tight dress shirt. “I don’t… know?”

“To which question?”

John blinked. “Either. What?”

He was treated to Sherlock’s I-just-solved-the-case smile, the one he only wore when he was about to dispense a torrent of brilliance and verbal bloodletting and knew John wouldn’t be able to help the trail of _brilliant_ s and _fantastic_ s from behind him. “Sex, John,” Sherlock purred. “Top or bottom? What turns you on?”

 _Anything. Everything._ As long as it was with Sherlock, John was pretty sure just being in the same room naked would do the trick. No, make that one hundred percent sure. Despite his total lack of sexual experience with naked men in any way, shape, or form. Shared showers in the army, yes; physical contact, no. “Top, I guess? Without the, um. The toy.” John couldn’t quite look at the massive dildo without blushing.

Sherlock nodded, like this was entirely what he’d expected his “not-gay” flatmate to say. It probably was. “Take off your clothes, then,” he commanded. “I find I quite like the idea of talking you through how to prepare my body to fit your cock inside it.” He finally stopped petting the top button of his own shirt and got on with the stripping. “I don’t keep condoms in the bedroom,” he announced, “but there should still be half a box left on top of the refrigerator. From an experiment. I’ll go get them.”

“Right.” Of course the git would be experimenting on condoms. John couldn’t help but stare as his lean, gorgeous flatmate strode out of the room shirtless. His back should have been the focus of John’s attention, seeing as it was rarely bare and thus presented new information, but Sherlock’s back was in direct competition with his arse. And… _well_. It was one thing to know, academically, that your flatmate’s arse filled out his trousers in an objectively appealing way. It was quite another to have said flatmate flaunt that objectively appealing arse as he practically sashayed out of the room. Sherlock’s expression when he returned told John the berk knew _exactly_ what had caused John to freeze.

Sherlock tossed the box of condoms onto the bed next to John. Without coming closer - and perfectly backlit by the brighter light of the hallway and the sitting room - he then undid his flies one-handed and gracefully stepped out of both his trousers and his pants.

“Guh.”

“Verbal processing problems already?” he teased. For a moment it looked like he was going to come back to the bed, but instead he merely slid one hand up the doorframe and leaned against it like he was posing for a bloody magazine. Naked. “Get your kit off, John,” he said in a low voice, “or logistical issues will make this entire venture difficult.”

Somehow John got his clothes off and ended up perched in his birthday suit on the edge of the mattress. Sherlock’s singular stare was discomfiting, but his nudity had some benefits - like the massive, blindingly obvious proof that he was turned on by watching his doctor-blogger-flatmate strip. John didn’t have to look down to know he was in the same state.

“Better.” Sherlock pushed off the wall and stalked toward John and the bed. “If you’d like to have a crisis of sexuality, better do it now. Because in a moment I’m going to lube up the fingers on your left hand and talk you through how best to both open me up and stimulate my prostate. Difficult to rationalize away your fingers up a man’s arse as platonic and heterosexual.”

“Sherlock, I’ve already--”

“It’s nothing like what you may have done in a medical setting,” he continued. “Not unless your patients usually end up leaking copious amounts of pre-ejaculate fluid and begging you to fuck them.”

“Ah. No, can’t say that they do.” John cleared his throat. “And I’ve had weeks to decide I wanted this - I think it’s pretty bloody obvious by now that my cock doesn’t give fuck-all that I’ve always considered myself straight. I’ve been in denial about that for a while, I realized.”

 _“Excellent.”_ Sherlock’s expression turned sharp, indicative of peak deduction mode. He looked John over slowly, head to toe, then prowled forward to cage John’s legs in between two lanky thighs. A gentle shove, more a pointed nudge than anything else, and John found himself knocked flat with a sinfully sexy consulting detective on all fours looming over him.

John scrambled further backward - _being short is the worst_ \- and finally put himself in kissing range of Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock made a surprised noise when John pressed their lips together, but after a few moments he got the idea and followed the kiss back down so John could drop his head back to the mattress. John palmed the back of Sherlock’s poor overstuffed skull and held him there for a good long snog.

“Oh,” Sherlock breathed when they finally broke apart. “I may have underestimated how good at that you would be.”

“Git.” John nipped playfully at Sherlock’s lower lip. “I’d be happy to give you a longer demonstration, but it would be a waste of us both being naked. I’d…” He could feel himself reddening. “I think I’d like to taste you elsewhere, too, but tonight I was looking forward to the other thing.”

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. “Anally penetrating me, you mean? _That_ other thing? If you can’t bring yourself say it...”

“Erhm.” _Not phrased like that, I won’t._ “I was thinking more like ‘copious amounts of pre-ejaculate fluid’ and you begging me to fuck you. Something about me with my fingers in your arse, taking you apart, then us fucking until I see _exactly_ what feels so different about sex with my mad flatmate instead of with some unnamed woman. Sound familiar?”

 _“Oh._ ” Sherlock shivered. “Yes, that’s…” He swallowed hard, the bobbing of his prominent Adam’s apple emphasizing just how not-female he was. “That’s exactly what I meant. Lubricant.” He didn’t wait long enough for the word to penetrate John’s foggy brain before grabbing John’s hand and squeezing a fair-sized glob of lube onto his index finger. “It’s been a while for me, so we can’t go straight to anal intercourse, but I don’t require undue--”

“I don’t mind taking my time, Sherlock. You’re worth it.” The idiot was clearly trying to guide John’s hand to his arse, but John broke out of his grip and smoothed the lube down Sherlock’s cock instead.

Sherlock sucked in an abrupt breath and stilled.

“This doesn’t feel as odd as I expected,” John admitted. It felt eerily like tossing himself off, except… not. Yes, he was only getting sensation from the one area of skin instead of two, and it was at an awkward angle. Also there was the fact that they were face-to-face so the movement was upside-down. This wasn’t just him wanking another man, though, it was pulling off _Sherlock_.This specific man - this brusque genius who ignored his transport as often as he could - was now captivated and quivering because of the small motions of John’s hand. _Incredible._

Slowly, deliberately slowly, John started shifting his attentions lower. Sherlock didn’t move, even when John had to pause to apply more lube to his palm. He knelt over John with his arms locked and his head hanging loose, eyes closed and mouth open. John carefully fondled Sherlock’s shaft, his bollocks, his perineum…

When he ran a tentative fingertip up Sherlock’s crack and brushed over the little textured rim, Sherlock whimpered.

“More?”

Sherlock violently shook his head yes. John shifted downward on the mattress a bit more, both to ease the cramp in his wrist and to prevent them from banging their foreheads together if Sherlock were to move his head like that again. Sherlock’s entire arse was sensitive, it seemed - John kept his finger over Sherlock’s hole but let his free hand wander. Sherlock alternately leaned into the touch and pushed back against John’s questing fingertip. Another slight change of angle, a deep breath, and his finger slipped in to the second knuckle.

“Fuck,” Sherlock groaned.

The unusual profanity - not carefully crafted to elicit a reaction from a witness or to add verisimilitude to a disguise, but profanity for profanity’s sake - brought their immediate situation back into focus. John and Sherlock were both naked. Both hard as bloody nails. And if John played it right, this was going to end with his cock in his flatmate’s arse. An opportunity he’d have to be an idiot to pass up.

“Flip over?” John requested.

Sherlock lifted his head and blinked down at him. “Are you sure?”

 _Oh_. “You don’t have to,” John said quickly. “I just thought I’d have a better shot of not bolloxing this up if I could see what I was doing.”

“It… I thought you would prefer not to look,” Sherlock replied. “Make it easier to compare this to being with a woman.”

“I’m not with a woman.” Lord, the things Sherlock could see but not observe. John pressed a fond kiss to Sherlock’s jaw. “I’m doing this with _you_ , you bloody berk, and if you’re trying to look feminine you’re doing a piss-poor job of it.” One good shove that Sherlock wasn’t expecting, and John had their positions reversed. Sherlock gaped up at him. _Tough_. “You’re blind if you think this isn’t sexy,” John added, and slid his fingertip back into his flatmate’s arse. “God, I’m actually inside you right now. How does it feel?” He rubbed his thumb against Sherlock’s rim as he talked. “Is it different being me and not that atrocious silicone cock behind you?”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Sherlock lay back and groaned. “Also don’t stop.”

John didn’t. The mechanics of stretching Sherlock’s anal sphincter were fairly straightforward - plenty of lube, work from one finger up to two and then three, small movements but nothing abrupt or overly forceful. Despite having promised to walk him through it, Sherlock mostly moaned and squirmed his way through the preparations.

“Are you avoiding my prostate on purpose?” Sherlock asked, cracking one eye open.

John sank three fingers in to the hilt and slowly rotated his hand. It made Sherlock bite his lower lip and shiver. “Might be,” he admitted. “Are we to the fucking part yet?”

“God, yes.” Sherlock flailed for a moment before his outstretched arm hit the box of condoms. “Here, hurry. Wait, no, I’ll open it. Your hands are covered in lubricant.” He yanked one out - sending several others flying across the bed - and opened it with his teeth. “Quickly. I want your penis inside me.”

“Slow, fast, slow, fast - can’t you make up your mind?” John was teasing, but he did roll the condom on himself and slick it up as he said it. “Okay… position?”

Sherlock splayed his legs wider and, with an odd lack of grace compared to everything else they’d done so far that evening, caught both hands behind his knees to keep them that way. “Whenever you’re ready,” he commanded. “You may find it erotic to watch yourself penetrate me.”

“Sherlock, if I were any more turned on than I am right now you’d already be doing CPR.” John lined himself up. Sherlock’s cock was nearly purple and was leaking a lazy drizzle onto his stomach. Slowly, achingly slowly, John nudged himself forward until the head of his cock breached the still-wonderfully-tight ring of Sherlock’s arse.

 _“Ooooh._ More, please, John!”

“Yeah, just… give me a minute. _Fuck_ , that feels good.”

Sherlock craned his neck up to stare at John for a moment, like John was suddenly speaking in tongues, but eventually he let his head flop back onto the pillow and wriggled his arse instead.

 _Fuck._ John slowly forced himself to move his hips forward, tiny little undulations which slid his cock further and further into Sherlock’s body. _Actually inside him, bloody fucking hell._ Sherlock was making noises now, too, little moans and gasps and whimpers of encouragement, until John finally bottomed out with his balls against his flatmate’s arse.

 _“Move,_ ” Sherlock panted. “Analyze the difference between this and vaginal sex later. Right now I need you to fuck me until I can’t remember my own name.”

“Mmm. Is that the part Greg messed up? Made you forget the wrong one?”

Sherlock gave him a blank look at the admittedly poor jibe, then tipped his hips up to offer John an even better angle.

“You twit, if you think I’m envisioning vaginas right now, you’re wrong. So very, very wrong.” John took a deep breath and slowly pulled out most of the way, then slammed back home. They both cried out. It felt even better than going slow had, so John braced himself against the bed with one hand and held onto Sherlock’s hip with the other and proceeded to give his mad flatmate the best rogering he knew how. Sherlock gasped and panted and growled encouragement until both of them were probably making more noise than Mrs. Hudson really wanted to hear. Although then again, if she and Sherlock really did meet the way Sherlock described--

John shoved that thought into the very back of his mind, along with everything else that wasn’t Sherlock. Yes, the sight below him wasn’t one he’d ever actually experienced before, but that didn’t mean he hadn't done some serious fantasizing about it. About Sherlock, flushed and moaning and straining up against him, eyes closed and mouth agape and that long, pale neck practically begging for love bites if only John were a bit taller and a lot more flexible. 

He might not have been able to reach Sherlock’s neck, but he could reach the man’s cock just fine. John tugged one of Sherlock’s hands free from where it was gripping the sheets and positioned it over that straining erection. He shifted his weight to his good arm and wrapped his other hand over the top.

“Do it, Sherlock,” he urged. “Show me how you like to be touched. I want to feel you come.”

Two frantic pulls later, a mind-blowing shudder flashed over Sherlock’s body and he shot all over his own chest. The internal spasms pulled John along with him nearly simultaneously. John fought to keep his eyes open, to save the image of Sherlock mid-orgasm in whatever substandard mind hut he’d managed to construct since moving in with the man, but the next thing John knew he was collapsed flat on Sherlock’s sternum and they were both sticky with come.

“Mmph,” Sherlock moaned. “ _John._ ”

“Oh, Christ,” John concurred. He managed enough muscle control to pull out without unduly injuring either of them, then flopped on his side with an arm flung over Sherlock’s bony chest and a leg draped over the man’s thigh.

“Not…” Sherlock cleared his throat. “Not entirely the same, I assume you agree.”

“Shut up.” John squeezed his ridiculous, genius flatmate tighter. “I should be mad at you, you know.”

Sherlock tensed.

“Ruining me for women forever, I mean.”

“You.. you liked it, then?”

John playfully bit at Sherlock’s shoulder. “Who’s the unobservant one now? Sherlock, that was, without a doubt, the most incredible thing that has ever happened to me. Ever. And you’re even more dense than Anderson if you thought otherwise.”

“Oh.” The noise was hesitant, surprised.

“Yes, _oh._ ” He rolled up on one elbow, the better to see Sherlock’s face. “That wasn’t… you didn’t mean for that to be a one-off, did you? Because even if nothing else, you haven’t shown me what you like best about that frighteningly blue silicone prick you’ve got sitting on your bedside table. And, more importantly…” --he bent down to press a quick kiss onto Sherlock’s lips-- “we still need to try that the other way around. If you’re amenable?”

Sherlock blinked at him. Slowly. “Oh,” he repeated. “You would… you want to?”

“Sherlock, I want you to teach me everything you know about gay sex. Anal or otherwise. I think, between the two of us, we could make a solid study of the subject. Sound good?”

The slow emergence of Sherlock’s smile was like the sun peeking over the horizon. “It does,” Sherlock breathed. “John, for you, anything.”


End file.
